Chapter 15: In His Arms
MAX
I flop around on the sofa in the hotel suite, trying to get comfortable. It's ten at night and I haven't yet heard from Lily. Her stuff was delivered two hours ago, and Tanya had told me earlier that she'd showered at the track and gone directly to the sponsor dinner, and that she had a key to the suite.
I really shouldn't care so much, but I do.
Annoyed at myself, I flip the TV channels, wishing I'd been assigned to that dinner. But according to my contract, I only must do two sponsor dinners per race, and this isn't my night. I'd insisted on two nights off before each race, and normally I like the downtime, chilling in the hotel room, meditating and exercising and just catching up on much needed sleep.
I flip to ESPN, and the talking heads are chattering about basketball. I only half-listen, because I'm wondering how Lily is doing at the party. She's not really a social creature, and she normally shied away from such events back when we were together.
There's a sound at the door, like the lock is disengaging, and I sit up and grab my water. Then I realize I look too eager and set down the bottle and sprawl back into the plush cushions. Better to have her think I'm half-asleep.
She peeks in and enters quietly.
"Hey there," I say.
She jumps, startled, and presses a hand to her chest. "Oh! I didn't see you there. Gosh."
"Sorry that I startled you." I sit up.
Her eyes dart around the room, and I stand up, then realize I'm not sure what I should do once I'm on my feet. I'm wearing gray sweatpants so I can't even stuff my hands in my pockets. Holy shit, she looks incredible in those tight jeans and red boots.
"Someone from the team delivered your suitcases," I say, wanting to be helpful.
"Oh, good." She lets out a breath. "All I want is to take a real shower and go to bed. I feel a headache coming on."
"Yes. Those dinners can be really stressful. How was it?"
She nods. "It was quite nice. I caught up with Anh. The tacos were amazing. They were street tacos. I think I ate like ten of them."
Laughter slips out of my mouth. "You ate ten of those big stuffed things?" I hold my hands about a foot apart.
"No, silly, you're thinking of burritos. Street tacos are small." She smiles. "Anyway, everyone was quite gracious, and asked about Dad. People really love him."
"There's a lot to love. He's a good man who cares for his team and his family."
We stand there and smile awkwardly, me near the sofa and her near the door. She looks down at her boots, then looks up at me.
"I'm kind of embracing this cowgirl thing. I think I might wear these all weekend."
I imagine her wearing them with a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a wet T-shirt and almost groan aloud. "Are they comfortable?"
"Very." She smiles. She's also wearing a low-cut blouse that shows off her cleavage. I force myself to stare at her forehead, because I don't want her to think I'm a total letch.
Even though that's exactly what I feel like.
I scratch my arm nervously. "Oh! Your suitcase was delivered. I put it in the main bedroom. I thought I'd take the sofa."
A horrified look crosses her face. "Oh my God. I thought there were two bedrooms in here. There aren't?"
"No, not in this hotel. I was mistaken. Last year we stayed at the Plaza and those suites have multiple bedrooms. The suites here all have a big living room and a bedroom, and a little kitchen area. I'm sorry if it's awkward."
Her mouth opens, then closes, and I chatter on about the view and the minibar. I even go to the window and open the curtain.
"See the view, it's quite nice. Downtown Austin. There's the Texas Capitol building over there." What the fuck am I, a realtor?
She rubs her forehead, still with a stunned expression on her face. "You have to practice tomorrow, so why don't you take the bed. The sofa's fine by me."
"I couldn't do that, no."
"Please?"
"Nope."
Her expression has morphed into exasperation. "Listen, I have a bit of a headache and don't want to argue. I'm going to shower. Where's the bathroom? Are there two?"
"Oh, uh, it's in here. There's only one, unfortunately." I walk quickly into the bedroom, and she follows. I point to the ensuite. The atmosphere seems charged with electricity now that we're both standing near a bed.
"Thanks again."
"I'll just let you shower." I back out of the room, my heart pounding, and shut the bedroom door behind me.
In the living room, as the faint strains of a suitcase zipper, I pace and tug at my hair. That was so awkward. Terrible. As if we are strangers, and not two people who used to have sex a couple of times a night, in various places (some of them wildly inappropriate).
I guess I shouldn't have expected more. Shouldn't have thought we could go back to our old friendship, or fall back into whatever we'd been doing before.
I flop down on the sofa and grab a blue blanket slung over the back, throwing it over my body in exasperation.
LILY
This is a disaster, staying here. I'm under the shower spray actually shaking, my nerves are so jangled. I'd assumed that I'd at least have my own space, but dammit, this suite is actually miniscule. Like a small apartment in New York City.
There are two rooms, both decorated in bright red, pale blue, and white colors. The sofa and chairs are red, and the blanket's in a matching red southwest pattern. It's like an American flag exploded around the room, and the overall effect is makes me feel even more jittery. There's even a framed black-and-white photo of an old man with a beard on the wall opposite the bed, above the TV, and suddenly it registers that it's country star Willie Nelson.
I plunk down on the bed, staring up at Willie, who is strumming a guitar in the photo. Who would want to look at that face while having sex?
More importantly, why am I thinking about sex while in Max's hotel suite, on the bed that he's supposed to sleep in?
I shake my head, hoping to rid my brain of both Willie and Max and sex, and go into the bathroom. Fortunately, that's a much more soothing atmosphere, with a light gray and white décor.
I take a quick and unsatisfying shower. Something about the idea of being naked when Max is sitting in the other room watching TV is too intimate for my liking. My insides are already quivering, and the sight of him in those gray sweatpants makes parts of me warm and tingly.
I do not want to tingle in those parts. Not here with him, and not when I have a headache blooming.
Fortunately, I brought decent sleepwear, my favorite pink silk pajamas and not my usual cotton tank and shorts. I brush my teeth, blow dry my hair, and slap on some moisturizer. I wipe away the condensation on the mirror and grimace. Ugh, I am so plain. Ugly, even.
I hate for Max to see me this way. But this is my face, and I'm going to have to make the best of this situation. Even if that means the sofa.
He's going to have to understand the importance of taking the bed, chivalry be damned. He needs to be in top form this week and starting it with terrible sleep isn't a good idea.
I march out to the living room and find Max lying on the couch, covered by a hideous blue blanket. The lights are out but the TV's on, tuned to some Animal Planet show about wildebeest.
"Max."
He opens his eyes. "Oh, hallo," he says casually, like he didn't expect me to be here. My presence barely registers, obviously.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Really, you need to sleep in the bed. I know how you have, ah, had, sleep issues. You need to be at your best this week, especially after that Miami race. Please?"
He sits up. "I feel ungentlemanly if you take the sofa."
I can tell he's exhausted because his German accent is a little more pronounced. "I won't hold it against you, I promise. It's more important that you're rested. That's an order. From the team owner."
"Okay, fine." He flings off the blanket. "Can I at least get you a pillow?"
"Sure."
We pass by each other, and I catch his masculine scent. I smell the faintest whiff of aftershave and the unique smell of his skin. It smells like ocean sunrises and sea air, luxury hotel suites and pure sex.
The sensation of blood rushing in my ears makes me unsteady. I sink into the sofa, the cushions still warm from his body. There are those tingles again, all concentrated in one bundle of nerves between my legs. If I were home alone, I'd take care of myself with my vibrator.
That's obviously impossible tonight, although the thought of doing so on the sofa while he's in the other room just makes me even more aroused. I am a deviant.
Max pads back out, his footsteps soft. He's not holding a pillow, and gestures with his thumb behind him. "You know, this is an enormous bed. We can both sleep there. I'd hate for you to toss and turn with a headache tonight."
I take in his athletic frame, the muscles that ripple beneath his tight T-shirt, the way the fabric stretches over his chest how his eyes glint in the light coming from the bedroom.
My temple throbs, signaling the escalation of my headache. I look at the narrow, sofa, its red cushions picture-perfect, it's fabric a luxurious crushed velvet. It's nice-looking, but not designed for sleeping.
"All right."
He smiles, but it's not a lascivious expression. It's a mixture of relief and, I think, happiness. "I'm watching this program, so I'll be in later. But, uh, feel free to sleep—"
"Yeah, I'm exhausted," I interrupt. This is getting way too awkward for my liking and all I want is for both of us to stop talking. "Night."
"Night night," he says, shutting the door.
In the bedroom, I turn off the bedside lamp and slide between the luxuriously soft white cotton sheets. I roll onto my side, as close to the edge as I can without falling off, facing the window. I do not want Max to think I'm doing this for a hookup.
The thought of building a wall of pillows between us comes to mind, but I chide myself. That's absurd. We're adults, teammates, and we can bunk in the same bed in an emergency. This would be no different if it were Tanya or Anh.
Come to think of it, why didn't Tanya offer to put me up in her room, with her? As I pull the fluffy duvet up my body, over my shoulder, and cover my ear, I ponder this. Whatever. What's done is done.
The bed is sinfully comfy, and I drift off, trying to will my headache away and not think about the moment when Max lies next to me. Many hours later, a soft buzzing sound stirs me awake. My eyes flutter open, and for a moment, I'm not sure where I am.
Oh, right, The Plaza, in Austin. In a comfy bed inside a dark room. The temperature is perfect for sleeping, not too cold, not too hot, and...
There's a muscular arm around me.
It belongs to Max. Oh my word, we are spooning. He is the big spoon, and he's wrapped around me, his nose pressed into the nape of my neck. Our legs are tangled together, and his hand is sprawled across my belly.
My mouth opens in a silent gasp, while he snores away, the soft vibration causing little goosebumps to form on my neck. I turn my head to the left a few inches and spot the sleeve of his T-shirt. We're both clothed.
My heart is jackhammering against my rib cage. I don't remember when he came to bed, probably because I'm a deep sleeper. I also don't recall when we started spooning.
I blink a few times in the dark, wondering if I should get up and sleep on the sofa. Or wriggle out of his embrace. I'd been sleeping so well until just now, perfectly comfy in my little cocoon.
I shut my eyes and exhale. This feels amazing. Like it used to, when Max and I would sneak into each other's hotel rooms and fall asleep together. No, it doesn't just feel amazing, it's perfect. A ripple of happiness goes through me, and I nestle closer to him. He squeezes my stomach with his hand and presses against me.
Nothing about this is sexual. It's more intimate than that.
Forget the sofa. I don't want to be anywhere but where I am right now, in Max's arms.
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Make sure to check out the first two books in the series, DRIVE and CRASH! Available on Wattpad, and in ebook/paperback!
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